


Rituals for the End of the World

by jupiter_james



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Castiel, Canon Compliant, Fingering, M/M, Mutual Pining, Top Dean, almost pwp, talking about the end of the world, tw drug mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 16:04:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6121921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jupiter_james/pseuds/jupiter_james
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A porny little oneshot about what happens in the Endverse when Castiel and Dean don't follow their good luck rituals before Dean leaves on a hunt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rituals for the End of the World

**Author's Note:**

> I've got nothing to say about this one. There's just smut and feels!
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr!  
> Main Blog (multi-fandom/personal): [Jupiter James](http://jupiterjames.tumblr.com)  
> Fandom Blog (Supernatural only): [Nerd Angel Ambriel](http://nerdangelambriel.com)

Cas says it to Dean without fail before the hunter leaves on any mission. "Be safe, Dean. But if you don't come back, I'll see you before long on the other side."

He hates it when Cas says that. He's never sure what it means and is too afraid to ask. Years ago, before the virus had struck, he would have thought it was some sort of blessing. Castiel's way of telling him that better things were waiting for them on the other side. That he'd never be alone. Or at least not alone for long. That Castiel would guide his soul to wherever it needed to go. Dean would have found comfort in that.

Except, Castiel is just "Cas" now. He's lost his angelic powers and prefers that no one address him by his full name. He revels in sin to wipe off the last of the holiness he'd clung to in the past, and once admitted, while high as a kite, that he couldn't stand the thought of his soul being cleaner than Dean's. 

So now when Cas approaches him and holds out his hands, Dean takes them both in his with a sick feeling of dread. Cas says, "be safe, Dean. But if you don't come back, I'll see you before long on the other side." He's said those words so many times that Dean has to resist the urge to mouth them along with him, they were so familiar. Always spoken in the same tone, never changing in cadence or timbre or speed. Dean supposes it's meant to make them more comforting, like a benediction, but it's not. It clenches in his chest and always makes him want to answer, "don't fucking say that, Cas. Don't follow me." He wonders what will happen if he says it out loud. Just once. Just _once_ he wants to say it instead of, "thanks, Cas. See you in a few hours."

He squeezes Cas's hands as always, but doesn't answer him. Feels a little bad that Cas's chin is tilted up towards him, pure blue eyes expectant. The statement and answer dance is their good luck charm, and Cas knows it. Probably needs it on some level. But this time Dean just holds his gaze. Cas's eyes widen. Dean can see him about to panic, even though he's in a haze of depressant drugs. He can't stay calm when the teams are dispatched on hunts otherwise. Dean knows _that_ feeling intimately, though he prefers booze to calm him down, and he can't back out of hunts and raids like Cas can. 

"Dean," Cas says worriedly, "I said-"

"Forget that," Dean snaps. He squeezes Cas's hands tighter when he tries to pull away. The movement jerks Cas back, but Dean keeps his hold, following him as he stumbles two steps backwards, stopped by a burned out brick wall. Cas "oofs" softly as his back collides with the crumbling surface and Dean's forward momentum brings them almost nose-to-nose. "Forget that, Cas," he repeats, modulating his voice quieter to account for their proximity. "I hate it when you say that."

Cas's eyebrows shoot up to give him an owlish expression. "Why?"

Dean can't maintain eye contact anymore. They're standing too close for him to be able to say anything truly important, so he breaks off and dips his head. His messy brown hair brushes against Cas's forehead. "Because..." he starts. His tongue feels too thick in his mouth, his voice too uncertain. He's Dean Winchester and he leads this doomed operation. He can't show weakness. He can't show anything besides determination. He can't show favoritism or feel close to anyone. They all die. They've all _been_ dying. The only reason that the rest of them are still here is mostly just the damnedest luck. That's it. There's no room for anything else. "Because I don't want you saying goodbye to me," he forces himself to say. He lowers his voice for Cas's ears only, but it's not enough. So he moves in closer. All he has to do is shift his weight from his left leg to his right and his knee slides between Cas's legs, the gun secured in his thigh holster pressing into Cas. He tilts his head minutely so that his lips are right next to Cas's ear. He can feel the former angel's hot breath on his neck, rapid and erratic. "Every time you say that shit to me it sounds like you're saying goodbye and I can't take that from you, Cas," he whispers. There's no taking it back. It's too true to be swallowed away, but maybe too fragile to keep without any volume to give it strength or weight. 

He feels Cas's throat choke on a swallow. Then Cas's lips brush the tender skin right below the bolt of his jaw. His voice is a quiet rumble. "It'll never be a goodbye," he confesses. "I won't be left alone here."

Dean's hands fist into the lapels of Cas''s dirty blue button down. He shoves hard but there's nowhere for the man to go. Cas grunts as his back scrapes against the wall. "Don't fucking _say_ that, Cas!" he hisses. His words weigh something now. Still not much, but more than a whisper. "You don't _get_ it, do you? I can't lose you. I _can't_. I got no one else, man. You're the _only one_ who's never left me. And I put up with your shit 'cause I'll take you however I can get you at this point, because as far as I'm concerned? You and me? We're _it_." The words get heavier and heavier. 

Cas grabs onto them harder and harder. "Dean," he says, and it sounds like it used to.

Dean's head slides down the side of Cas's face until it's resting against the crook of his neck. He can feel Cas's rapid heartbeat against his lips. "Sam's gone, Cas. Charlie. Kevin. Bobby. Jody. Ellen. Jo. It's just _you_ and _me_. So, I don't care if you get high or fuck every woman in the compound. You can do that stupid yoga and say all that spirituality shit just to get into their pants, but you _can't_ leave me and you can't fucking expect me to die."

He can feel Cas's jaw clenching. He's leaned into Dean's lips against his throat while he talked, pressing as close as he can. He's trembling and Dean would think that he was crying with the sounds he's making in the back of his throat, but there's no wetness. 

"Dean," Cas says forcefully. It sounds even more like it used to. "There's a reason for that. I know you know why. You never wanted to talk about it."

"Still don't," Dean mutters, nosing into Cas's shoulder.

"You started it," Cas reminds him. "When you didn't answer me in the agreed upon way. You said if this part didn't change, then neither would we. A ritual would give us luck and it'd be okay. I say my thing, you say yours. You didn't say yours, Dean."

"Doesn't feel lucky today." He brings their joined hands around his waist, behind his back, and he doesn't let go.

"It's okay to think that. All people have a singular vulnerability." 

"Our families," Dean says almost before Cas has finished his sentence.

"Yes," comes Cas's praising murmur. He arches into the word like just saying it brings the pleasure it sometimes means. Their bodies are flush together and Cas is hard where he's pressed against Dean's thigh holster. "Since you changed everything, you need different luck." He untangles their fingers and reaches up to hold Dean's face in his hands. Pushes him back just enough so that they can look at each other without having to go cross eyed. "Come home, Dean. I'll be waiting."

Slowly, Dean pulls away, separating them when he doesn't want to. But Cas has given him a gift. "I'll see you soon." He has to go and protect his family.

xXx

Another fruitless search mission. At least they managed to cut down a swath of demons. It doesn't do anything in the long run, but it sure had made Dean feel better about the wasted time and resources. He'll have to get Chuck to schedule a supply run. He wipes the dirty sweat dripping stinging into his eyes with his even dirtier shirt sleeve.

He sees Cas where he didn't expect to when they get back to camp hours after dark. The former angel is at Dean's bunk, leaning casually against the wooden door frame that lacks a door, squinting into the floodlights . It isn't much, and the damn shack leaks something awful in the rain, but it's also one of the extremely few perks of being in charge. The illusion of privacy. Cas has never been over the threshold himself. He's never asked and Dean's never invited. Dean stalks purposefully towards his shack with a stern expression that tells everyone to leave him alone. They do. 

Cas grins. "Welcome home," he says like he was never worried to begin with.

"Come on in," Dean says equally as casually like he didn't realize how big it was.

Cas shrugs off the wall and bends down to pick up a pail of water by his feet. Dean holds the canvas flap covering the door open. Their chests brush as Cas steps inside and sets the pail on the ground near the small camp table that's been squeezed into a space barely big enough to fit the two of them comfortably. It only takes a glance to get the full impression. Pallet and sleeping bag on the scuffed hardwood floor. Folding table with a single kerosene camp stove burner. A 2x4 nailed to the back wall with a lantern, assortment of guns and knives, and a creased, faded picture of Mary Winchester in the hospital holding newborn Sam while Dean leans over the edge of the bed beaming. Cas hates that picture because the smile on Dean's face has never existed outside of the still image.

"You're gonna get in trouble taking that much water," Dean says while he lights the lantern. 

"It's for both of us," Cas answers, still staring at the picture, "and I walked to the river to get it. It's not from our reserve." He tears his eyes away from the photo.

Dean is staring at him. "Why the hell'd you do that? There was plenty here at camp."

He shrugs and takes the two washcloths from the shelf. "I needed a walk to sober up, as it were. I like the river water better, anyway. It's cleaner. Sit, please." Dean complies and lowers himself onto the rusted metal folding chair in front of the table. It creaks in protest. Cas watches his movements like a hawk. "Are you injured?" he demands.

"Nah. Just some bruises. Maybe a few scratches." He rolls his shoulders.

Cas's critical eye rakes up and down his form. "Take off your shirt."

"Buy me dinner first," Dean quips. Cas grabs for it impatiently, but Dean bats his hand away and pulls off his grimy green overshirt and a used-to-be-white-but-now-is-gray undershirt. "What's up, Cas?"

"You're filthy. It looks like you haven't washed your clothes in three years." He sits back on his knees, dips the washcloth in the water, lathers it up with a small sliver of his rationed soap, and begins to scrub at Dean's arms like a mom with a muddy toddler. He attacks the grit like he's angry at it. 

Dean allows it until his chest and arms are flushed pink. "Cas," he says gently. The former angel grinds his teeth and continues scrubbing. On a rough upward stroke, Dean catches his hands and holds him fast. "Cas," he says again stronger. "What's going on?"

"You're filthy," he answers, eyes down as he rips his hands free to clean Dean's abs and then reaches around to wash his back. "You're always so... _damn_ filthy."

Dean releases Cas's hand and runs his fingers through the other man's greasy hair. "So are you," he says with a smile. He picks up the unused washcloth and soaps it up, washing Cas's hair and face. Goosebumps rise over Cas's skin. Dean chases them with the threadbare cloth, wringing it out and rinsing it every so often. They don't talk anymore. Cas climbs to his feet, shucking off his unbuttoned shirt, then moves to his jeans. Dean stops him. Their eyes meet. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, Dean rises to his feet. Cas holds his hand up and touches Dean's neck. He trails his palm down flat until his momentum is stopped when his wrist hits the hunter's belt buckle. 

"I'm thinking there's something else going on here," Dean wonders. And he's not just saying that because this is the first time he's seen Cas not under the influence of drugs or afterglow endorphins in a very long time.

Cas curls his fingers underneath the waistband of Dean's jeans. "Remember the talk we had before you left when you said everything wrong? Or rather, didn't say anything at all? Which was also wrong."

Dean rolls his eyes. "You said I knew why. What were you talking about?"

Hands smoothing out to brush over Dean's ribs, testing the texture, Cas says, "the yoga, the meditation groups-"

"-the women," Dean finishes. None of it makes sense. Maybe he's been wrong about Cas's sobriety. But he's definitely not wrong about the attraction. Dean's touching Cas. All over. Familiarizing himself with the softness and warmth. He catches Cas's eye briefly and can already see arousal in the form of dilated pupils and parted lips. Why does he expect Dean to know anything? He's not the same man he was. _Cas_ isn't the same. He might have been able to read the angel's mind before he'd had to tack the word "former" to the front of it, but now? Fuck, now all he can think about is kissing him. And Cas must be able to read _his_ mind because the tilt of his head is an invitation. Dean never knew. Never thought he'd be here in this moment right now. It's the last calm before the storm. Maybe the last moment in his life that he'll be stuck just _wondering_ what his angel tastes like. Feels like. Moves like. Sounds like. Why had it never occurred to him before to find out? Cas was the complete opposite of chaste now. How could he not know after Cas has known all those... women. "There were never any men," he murmurs.

Cas surges upward onto his toes in response, bringing the storm and now Dean will never, for the rest of his life, have to wonder what it's like to kiss Cas. It's brilliant, raw passion that knocks him back into the camp table. The pitiful thing rocks dangerously and clatters against the wall. It won't support their weight even if they ask nicely, so Dean stumbles forward in an awkward lurch to save them both, though all he manages is to send the chair crashing to the floor as well as the both of them. At least Cas has the flexibility to twist them towards the thin pallet on the floor. Not like it's a huge challenge in such a cramped space.

Neither of them notice the noise they're making like a neon sign to the rest of the camp. It doesn't matter. There's still the illusion of privacy and Dean's waited too damn long to be exactly where he is right in this second, crouched on all fours above the angel, turned man, turned former angel underneath him.

"I wasn't being fair," Cas says as he reaches up and strokes Dean's face, messing up the scraggly nearly-beard. Thumbing over his bottom lip. "You did answer the question, but I said you didn't because you didn't know you had."

"How's that?" Dean asks, balancing on one hand locked at the elbow to undo his belt.

"'We're it'," Cas quotes. "You and me. We're it."

"I know," Dean says.

"You could have said something six years ago."

Dean grins. "You were an angel six years ago."

Cas frowns as he works at undoing his own belt. "I loved you the same." He shimmies out of his jeans and boxers all together. It's nothing to be fully bared to Dean. Part of him always has been.

"No, you didn't," Dean argues fondly, now also fully naked and acutely aware of his semi-hard dick hanging between them. Cas licks his lips. "You couldn't've. Not like now."

Cas flicks his gaze back up. "From the second I touched your soul to bring you out of Hell, I would never have denied you anything." There's a challenge with the lust in the cerulean blue.

Lowering himself to his forearms so that only a couple of inches separate them, Dean murmurs, "and now?"

"I want you inside me," Cas answers immediately.

Dean kisses him long and hard. They know each other so well. Neither one has to ask or prod. Their mouths open at the same time, tongues meeting and stoking a hellfire that could burn Dean alive if he let it. He might. But for a second he pulls back with a smirk and says, "that's what I was talking about. You never would have demanded anything from me for yourself six years ago."

Cas contemplates it while Dean lets more of his weight rest on top of him. He's rolling his body just slightly for pressure points that move in waves from their groins to their chests. It's not friction, but the squeeze of their dicks in the hollow of their hips makes Cas grab fistfuls of Dean's hair with a moan. "Screw six years ago," he gasps. Dean's grin curves against his neck before he bites down hard enough for Cas to shout with pleasure.

"Or now," Dean says. "Kiss me, you son of a bitch."

He shouldn't make fun of the yoga. The way that Cas grabs him and flips with with a fluid grace until he's straddling Dean's waist is nothing short of super hot. He lets Dean sit up with his back to the wall and presses their chests together. "You should ask nicer."

Dean's busy picking his way over Cas's neck down the curve to his shoulder with his mouth. Every part fit perfectly within his senses. The smell of sweat and musk makes him harder. The rough skin, pockmarked with scars makes his mouth water for more. His hands don't even know where to start or stop touching. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks he can't. Not like he'd want to try. "I've never been nice to you."

Cas laughs at that. "You're finally admitting it? Did I take another hallucinogen by accident? They've never been this fun before." The sound of his mirth rumbles through Cas and into Dean. It's a joyous sound, incongruous to the setting. Almost startling him out of his laser focus on Cas's body. 

That sound really shouldn't be here. Maybe his imagination is still good enough to think they're somewhere else. Somewhere they should have been. He's getting depressed, but Cas's mouth is on him again. It's sucking out the air, thoughts, everything. He's so grateful. Blessed. Happy. He tangles his fingers into Cas's hair, pulling him closer. Cas's fingers close around Dean's cock, stroking once up and massaging over the tip. "Ah, _fuck_ , you can still work miracles," Dean gasps. _Happiness_. He hopes it's fleeting as much as he's enjoying it now. It can't sustain the life he lives. He knows that. Happiness can only get him killed faster, but in this illusion of privacy, it's delicious. He's high on it.

"I'd say I've been practicing, but this is a lot different," Cas says wistfully. 

Dean's neck arches and his jaw clenches when Cas reaches under Dean's pillow to discover his stash of lubrication. "Not for nothing," he grits tightly, "but that practice is paying off right now."

It's the cue for Cas to remove his hand from Dean's painfully hard length. Dean protests the loss weakly. Then their mouths are meeting again and Dean closes his eyes. He can hear the obscene sounds of Cas slicking up his fingers. Then something else that sounds an _awful_ lot like stroking again, but Dean feels nothing. Reluctantly he opens his eyes, almost sorry that he did. He shudders, about to come already. "Jesus, Cas."

"I don't want it to be uncomfortable for me," the former angel gasps as he works himself open. "Only pleasure, Dean."

"Only pleasure, Cas," he echoes, slicking his own fingers and pushing inside next to Cas's. It's hot. Not like a woman at all, but then again, he should have expected Cas to be nothing like anyone else. He's not. He doesn't know what it means, however he's certain that there's a big revelation in it. "Tell me where it feels good."

Cas's answer is a long, filthy moan when Dean curves his finger slightly managing to find his prostate. Dean adds a second finger. He thinks Cas is swearing in Enochian now. That shouldn't be such a turn on, angelic words saying unholy things. It's working. Wow, it's working. He hears his name somewhere in there when Cas starts rutting against him, grinding his hips down as hard as he can over and over.

"Can I come inside you?" Dean asks.

Cas slaps his free hand over the hunter's mouth. "I hope so," he answers in a destroyed rough voice. "But only if you don't talk like that." He grinds down one more time as hard as he can, pushing deeply. It elicits moans from the both of them. "Has to be soon," he says. Then he's withdrawing completely, raised up on his knees over Dean. Their eyes meet and hold. "Dean," he whispers. 

Dean rubs his hands over the perfect jut of Cas's hips to his ass. He spreads him gently. It's been too damn long since he's seen the stare he used to call creepy. Wrong about _that_ , too. It's sexy as hell in the moment. Cas forces it to linger as he lowers himself over Dean's lubed dick. The slide is firm. Tight. Cas's gaze flickers almost closed. Dean's tutting noise brings it back. "Cas." It's only a breath.

Hands curl to cup the back of Dean's head as Cas seats himself completely in the hunter's lap. He can't look away. They're barely even blinking. Cas only moves to kiss him once briefly. His expression is serious and dangerously close to the angel Dean remembers. "Were you telling the truth before?"

It takes nearly all of his concentration to not start thrusting up. "About what?" His eyes slip closed again when Cas shifts on his lap.

"This is important," Cas whines, though he sounds far more interested in other things.

Dean opens his eyes. He braces Cas's hips. "Okay."

Cas waits until he has Dean's full attention again. "Is it really you and me? Are we it?"

Dean runs his hands over Cas's face like he's finger painting. So familiar and completely foreign in this capacity. Does he know? He's not sure if he knows or not. So he thrusts up and Cas bounces on his lap with a whispered curse and a death grip on his shoulders. Scratch that, he knows. "We're it," he growls.

"Good." Cas smiles like he means that. He rewards Dean by letting him move. Cas's hands slip through the sweat on Dean's shoulders before finding purchase and digging in. Dean keeps his fingers clenched tightly against Cas's hips as he finds his rhythm, Cas meeting all of his thrusts down with a low roll. 

"Oh, fuck," Dean swears loudly. Then pitches to quiet whimpers and breathless gasps in time with the tempo. Cas lets out a reedy groan before tapping his forehead against Dean's. His vision is filled with green. He really hopes it's _it_. If he knew how to pray, he'd be desperate with his desire for Dean right now.

They're such a nice fit. Cas has experienced the wonders of physical intimacy several times over since they arrived here. It's been lovely, all of it. The women are all so different. Some fit his taste better than others, but he never lied when he said that they were all beautiful. He found so much pleasure with all of them, but with Dean it's another story. He almost can't quantify it. He's performed miracles, healings, answered prayers, given and taken orgasms, eaten delicious food, experienced countless incredible sensations. Dean inside him is the best of all. It's stars aligning. He's barely exaggerating. All he can feel is their joined bodies. His ears are devouring the sounds Dean's making. It's something beyond everything. He hopes that Dean knows it.

He has to. Dean kisses Cas again with his eyes open. It's the counterpoint to their movements that are becoming gradually more frantic as heat coils tightly inside of them both. Dean kisses Cas like he eats his favorite hamburgers. He's savoring every small bite. Cas adores the bites. They draw him up further and further. He's going to come untouched. He wants to thank Dean for that. Instead, he throws his head back and spills between them, all over Dean's abs. He reaches down and spreads the mess between them. Dean breathes his name again and again and again. Then he's coming inside of Cas, his entire body spasming.

Cas guides him through it indulgently, stroking over his skin, murmuring against his temple. "Dean," he whispers.

Dean bites down hard on his shoulder. "Damn, Cas," he slurs. "After you went through all that effort to clean me up before."

Cas laughs until his eyes water. The sound bounces around the small room, raining down on them. It makes Dean smile. Chuckle. He can't let the rest out because anyone who can hear them laughing will worry since they don't live in a laughing sort of world. Cas wipes them both up and lays down on the pallet beside Dean. He's smiling with tears in the corners of his eyes. "I need to ask you something and tell you something."

Dean reaches for him and pulls Cas against him so that their breathing can sync. "Shoot," he says.

"Do you really believe we're at the end of days now?" He asks lightly, but the words are still incredibly heavy.

Still, Dean's too happy in this moment to fully frown or have his mood broken. "Yes," he answers sincerely.

"Then, I think it's unwise of me to wait any longer to tell you that I love you in every way imaginable. I can't let you die or the world end without you knowing. It wouldn't be fair."

"It's not fair to me that you're saying it when the world's already ending," Dean argues.

Cas rests his cheek on Dean's chest. He's quiet for so long that the hunter's almost drifted to sleep when he replies, "I meant not fair to me."

He thinks he might have waited too long to say that. Dean doesn't move and his breathing is evening out. Cas gives up and closes his eyes too, just before a small puff of air ruffles the hair on the crown of his head. "Did you know what I meant when I said you're all I've got left?"

Cas splays his hand out over Dean's heart. "Yes. You meant your family."

"I meant people I love. It's not always the same thing."

"Ah." The lantern fizzles out on the shelf, out of fuel. "Will that still be true if the world _doesn't_ end?"

A harder puff of air hits him when Dean huffs a laugh. "Yeah, Cas. It'll be true no matter what."

"Oh, I see," he answers thoughtfully, considering it. "Well, then, I guess I really hope it doesn't end this time." He's quiet again, but doesn't let it go long enough for Dean to doze a second time quite yet. "What about you? Do you hope it doesn't? Will it be enough if it's just me?"

Dean's arms squeeze tighter, drawing them both in for more warmth. "Most days, it probably will."

"That's the best we can hope for."

Dean kisses the spot on Cas's head that he's made warm by breathing. "Yeah. But if it's just you, I'll still be thankful every day."

Cas kisses the center of Dean's chest quickly and then lays his head back down. "Me, too. And today. Thank you Dean," he whispers. "Thank you."


End file.
